


Captain Swan one shots

by WonderstruckSwan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 14:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderstruckSwan/pseuds/WonderstruckSwan
Summary: A series of CS one shots from my Tumblr. Some are prompts, some are just from my brain. AU, canon divergance, canon compliant, etc





	1. Prompt: I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified

Emma sometimes wonders if Lieutenant Jones loves the sea so much that he carries it in his eyes. The similarity doesn’t stop in the colour, but also in the wildness and unpredictability and yet how calm they can make her feel. He’s told her that watching the sea makes him forget all his worries. She has the same feeling about his eyes.

She toys with the wine glass in her hand as she watches him from the side of the ballroom, making polite conversation with some noblewomen, but they’re not fools. Everyone knows the real reason he’s here, celebrating the winter solstice in an over-crowded ballroom rather than on his ship with his friends and brother.

It thrills her. It’s vain, but she enjoys imagining him getting ready for her, parting his hair just the way she likes it, making sure to pick up a flower for her on the way. It’s thrilling, and also incredibly scary.

She remembers once that her mother told her hearts are fragile things. She didn’t believe her until she experienced it first hand; gave someone her heart and watched them shatter it on the floor.

Lieutenant Jones-Killian, she corrects herself-turns away from the noblewoman with a smile that’s too wide and turns around, no doubt looking for her. Logic dictates he shouldn’t be able to find her, she’s just one person in all that crowd, but love and logic are arch enemies.

He hasn’t said he loves her but he’s done everything but. He’s brought her gifts, danced with her, laughed at her jokes, defended her honour. She sees how he looks at her when he thinks she isn’t watching, and so has Alexandra, who swears it’s the same way both their fathers look at their mothers. Emma wants to disagree but so far she can’t.

She wonders if Baelfire ever looked at her that way. Before trying to steal her magic to give to his father.

She supposes that’s the trouble with looks. They can be easily faked.

The memory becomes too real, threatening to break her heart all over again, and so she turns and sets off down one of the corridors. She keeps walking until she reaches the walkway overlooking the gardens. The noise from the ball seems so far away. She’s isolated. Alone. She likes it.

“Are you avoiding me?” a voice asks from behind her, making her jump. The Lieutenant stands bashfully a few feet away from her, clutching his jacket.

“Did you follow me?” she replies, her voice stern, but a weak smile on her face.

“You left in such haste,” he replies. “People were concerned about you.”

“And by people, you mean you?” He laughs at that. She has always loved his laugh.

There’s that stupid word again. Love.

“Of course I was concerned about you,” he tells her. “If nothing else, I did swear an oath to protect the royal family.”

“From invasions,” she reminds him. “Not heartbreak.”

“Your heart’s broken?” he asks and she kicks herself. She used to be more careful. Maybe it’s the wine.

“I don’t know,” she confesses. She sits on the wall of the walkway, her back against the open air. She wonders if he’d catch her if she fell. He takes a daring step closer. There’s so much honest sincerity on his face it makes her want to slap him. No one is that good at pretending, she thinks. Not even Baelfire was. “Why are you here?”

“You were upset-”

“No. Why are you here? Why are you always here?”

“Don’t you know?” he asks and it sends a shiver down her spine. She gets up and closes the gap between them. His fingertips brush against her dress.

“I wish I didn’t,” she confesses. He frowns. She’s told him much, but not about Baelfire and his tricks. She thinks that if he was a liar and cheat this would all be easier.

“What is it?” he asks her in a low voice. “What makes you wish that?”

Emma finds herself gripping his jacket for something to hold onto. His hands come up and cover hers.

“What are you so scared of?” he asks her.

“Loving you,” she whispers and its out there. Her confession sits out in the open and she can’t take it back. It hangs in the air between them as she watches realisation set on his face. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

“Oh,” is all he says. “Might I ask why?” She bits her lip. Tears spill over and run down her cheeks and he reaches up and dries them. “I take it not.”

“People leave,” she replies at the same time. “People lie. People use people.”

“Emma,” he pleads, tilting her chin up to look at him. “Have I lied to you? Use that magic power you have and tell me if I’ve lied to you.” Her cheeks turn pink. She told him about her talent at spotting lies the first night they met. Most people dismiss it as nonsense. It seems that he is not most people. When she looks up at him, really looks, tries to peel back the layers and see him at his core, she can’t see any lies.

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t think so.”

“Emma,” he says. “I would never hurt you. I’d die before I could cause you pain. Your heart is your own to do with as you wish but if you gave it to me, I promise to take care of it.”

“Do you always keep your promises, Lieutenant?” she asks. He huffs a laugh, his breath coming out in a small puff of smoke.

“Nearly always,” he says. “When they’re important to me. If it’s regarding something, or someone, that I love.”  He says the word ‘love’ like it’s a prayer.

When she moves in to kiss him, it’s soft and delicate, his lips taste of salt and wine, his hands are gentle on her back. Kissing him is like sailing on the sea; terrifying, unpredictable, and calming all at once.


	2. Prompt: You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Emma prides herself, mostly, on being incredibly efficient and organised. She has to be. Living on your own for your whole life, making your own packed lunches and writing out your college essays yourself makes you pretty self-sufficient. She has her days planned out wonderfully, especially since starting up this new university in London. Everything calculated, running like a well-oiled machine.

Until one freaking day when she stupidly forgets to turn her phone off from silent and oversleeps and throws herself out of bed, scrambling to get herself together and out the door, forgoing breakfast and not even bidding goodbye to her flame-haired Scottish flatmate.

It’s an off day. She’s allowed one, after all.

Unfortunately, that meant she never stopped to check the weather before leaving, simply throwing on her red leather jacket, and as luck would have it, the sun is blazing, the sky is clear and temperatures are rising. Add that to the always-too crowded Underground and Emma is sure she’s in the eighth circle of Hell.

There’s no seats by the time she squeezes onto the train, so she has to settle for holding a railing, sighing contently as the cold from the metal seeps into her warm cheek while she tries to get her breath back.

All she has to do is survive the next ten minutes and hope she still has enough energy to run to her class. Her legs are still sore and shaking from her sprint to the station and the ringing in her ears isn’t helping. She stares at the row of seats, willing someone, anyone to get up because if they don’t, she’s sure she might-

“Hey, hey are you all right?” someone asks her. Whoever it is, they’re blurry, their voice drowned out by the ringing. She feels a hand on her cheek, hears the same person telling her she’ll be okay.

Everything finally starts to come back into focus and she sees her new friend is a man, admittedly rather good-looking, dark hair and blue eyes.

“Back with us love?” he asks, half laughing.

“What happened?” Emma mumbles, pushing herself up. He chuckles, takes her hand and wraps her fingers around a metal hook before placing another hand on her back. It takes Emma an embarrassing amount of time to realise that the hook is in place of a left hand. She should push him away and get up herself but she’s beyond too tired and… well his hand on her back feels nice.

“You fainted. Right into my arms,” he explains before raising a cheeky eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you don’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, buddy,” she says weakly. His smile dips and he nods.

“Just trying to diffuse the tension,” he explains. She huffs a laugh and tries to stand before a wave of dizziness hits her again and she stumbles backwards, right into his arms.

“You’re making a habit of this,” he remarks. “Look lass, I gather you’re rather stubborn and proud, but I think you should sit down just for a little bit.” Emma pouts, but does as he asks. The train comes to a halt and people start to get off. He helps her to the nearest seat and kneels in front of her. “Here, have some water.” He pulls a plastic bottle out from his bag and hands it to her. 

“I’m fine,” she insists, pushing it away. He raises an eyebrow that screams “I call bullshit” and she admits defeat. Being taken care of, it’s not…. as awful as she thought it would be. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, love,” he replies. “Although, I would like to know what I can call you other than ‘love’ and ‘lass’.”

“Emma,” she says. “My name’s Emma.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma,” he says cheerily. “I’m Killian.” It suits him, she thinks. It makes her think of sailors on old-timey wooden ships in puffy shirts. “Where are you headed?”

“Euston Square.”

“Well, as luck would have it, as am I,” he replies, cocking his head to the side. “UCL?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. Literature.” He doesn’t ask, but his eyes hold a question.

“Marine biology,” she replies.

“Two very different worlds,” he says, and she laughs, until she feels dizzy again. “I know, love, this heat’s getting to us all.”

“That, and the lack of breakfast.”

Killian looks like she just desecrated his ancestor’s graves. It’s almost too funny, the way his mouth falls open at her admission.

“On no, no, no,” he says. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Tell you what, given we’re headed in the same direction, I’m seeing to it that you get something in you.”

“Killian, you don’t have to,” she protests.

“Yes I do,” he replies. “Because I am a gentleman, and gentlemen always help ladies in distress.”

“I’m not distressed.” It must have come out harsher than she thought, because he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Apologies,” he says. “I can tell you’re a tough one. But, I can’t bare the thought of you wandering around campus on a day like today without anything in you. So… Emma… Let me do this?” She is about to say no when his mouth quirks up into a small, frankly adorable, smile. “It’ll earn me some Good Place points?”

So when they get off, she lets him buy her a croissant.

“I’ll pay you back,” she promises, but he waves his hand.

“Please, it’s £1.50,” he says. “They used to be cheaper, but hey, Brexit.” She giggles and bites into it. If her stomach could talk, it would scream its thanks.

“I guess I’ll see you around?”

“I would hope so,” he says. She wonders if she’s imagining the honest smile, the sincerity in his voice, or the way her heart flutters ever so slightly. “In better circumstances, of course.”

“See you around… Killian.” He bows to her before going away in his own direction.

They see each other again and again. It’s like once he came into her life, she can’t stop running into him by chance. In the library, in the hall, in the shop…. in the bar.

Okay… Maybe that last one wasn’t exactly an accident.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was something I wrote in the mid-season 6 hiatus :)

Killian’s fingers brushed her shoulder gently, sending warmth down to her bones, flooding over her back. She let herself relax against his chest, relishing in the comfort of his arms pulling her towards his heat. He pressed kisses to her bare skin as if he could chase all her nightmares away with the touch of his lips.

When Emma started sobbing he pulled her  under the blankets, bundling them around her like they could ward off anything that might hurt her. He stroked her cheek with his thumb for a time in an attempt to calm her before finally asking.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was barely a whisper in their quiet house, as if he felt the Evil Queen could be watching (which wasn’t such a terribly irrational fear). In the darkness he couldn’t see her face and assumed her silence was a no. He was about to settle for a night of holding her close to him before Emma’s broken voice piped up.

“I die.” Her fate had been hanging over her for weeks, a gloomy, ever-present raincloud. There were moments she could forget, passionate kisses with Killian and games with Henry and jokes with her father that chased it away but sooner or later it always came back. Sometimes she’d wake with the feeling of the cold metal inside her and her blood sticking to her throat. “I’m going to die.”

“No,” Killian mumbled against her hair. “No you’re not, Emma, I promise you.”

“You can’t change fate,” she replied, a ghost of a half smile on her lips.

“Maybe I can’t,” he whispered. “But if there’s one thing I know about you is that you can.” She shook her head every so slightly. “Emma, darling look at me.” Reluctantly Emma turned to face him, a pout playing on her lips and tears in her eyes. “Emma when we went back to when your parents met we stopped them meeting and you were the one who got them back together. And then when you were the Dark One fate said you’d be dark forever but you weren’t. And when fate said I was dead you said no. You have never let fate or destiny tell you what to do or how to love. You’ve always defeated it and you will again.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, hope creeping into her voice. She was trying to keep it away, but she was smiling again.

“I know so,” Killian replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Killian pulled Emma towards him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He muttered promises of protection and declarations of love until she drifted off. Not so long after, he joined her.


	4. Home For Christmas

This was the bliggest blizzard Emma had ever seen. There was at least two inches of snow in her backyard which her father had heled her with that morning. Her raving lunatic of a ten year old, Henry had run around in it all day, turning his dark hair pure white and hsi little face red as he barrelled into her arms when she pulled into the drive and got out of her car, his fingers like icicles on the back of her neck.

“Oh, Jesus, Henry,” she laughed. 

“Mom, what were you getting”?“ he asked, craning his neck to get a peek into the plastic shopping bag she was carrying. Emma rolled her eyes as he followed her into the house, kneeling up on the kitchen chair to see what she’d bought.

"Oh,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he pulled out a can of tinned fruit.

“Not very exciting is it?” she laughed, taking it from him and putting it in the cuboard. “Henry I would never leave your present to the last minute.” Which was true, she’d bought Henry his mountain bike in October, safely hidden away in the attic he was too afraid to go up to. “Now I’m sure you’ve bought my present.”

“I have,” Henry squeaked. “And I’ve hidden it where you’ll never find it.” Translation; it’s in my sock drawer. “Mommy?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did Killian buy you your Christmas gift yet?” he asked innocently. Emma fought to hide her grin as she thought of what her three year boyfriend had gotten her. She knew of course-a silver ring with a red jewel in the center. They’d discussed it over and over and she’d gone to pick out the ring. Now, with him back from the Navy tomorrow, on Christmas eve, he’d pop the question as they opened the presents on Christmas day.

“I’m sure he has Henry,” she answered, continuing to fuss around the kitchen.  
“How, if he’s away overseas?”

“Oh I’m sure he got around to it.”

“Did he go online?”

“Probably kid.” Before Henry could ask any more questions, Hungry Eyes erupted from her handbag, which sat on the table. She trotted over and pulled her phone out, seeing the fiance, ahem boyfriend, in question’s selfie with the words “Killian calling” on the screen. 

“Hey we were just talking about you,” she chirped into the phone.

“All good things I hope,” he laughed, but he sounded nervous; it was the kind of shaky laugh that preceded bad news. “Emma, I’m afraid I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” she asked, her chest tightening slightly. She tried to conceal her worry in front of Henry, who was watching her with wide eyes and his mouth having fallen into a small ‘o’ shape.

“Emma we just got into Washington. But with the blizzards-” Emma closed her eyes, gripping the top of the counter until her hand was white. “There’s no planes out of here until the snow clears up, which won’t be for another week.”

“No,” Emma groaned. She couldn’t stop her face from falling as disappointment crashed over her like an avalanche.

“I’m so sorry, Emma-”

“Don’t, really, it’s not your fault,” she interrupted. “I’m just…… I miss you.”  
“I miss you two, my daring,” he sighed. “More than anything.” Not wanting to have an adult conversation in front of Henry, Emma mouthed 'two minutes’ at him and slipped out the back door into the December chill, leaning against the coarse wall of her house. “Kill, what are we going to do about-”

“Our plan?” he finished. She could practically feel the cheeky grin on his face, imagining his eyes lighting up as if it hadn’t been months since she’d seen him. “I don’t know, Emma.”

“You won’t be here for New Year, will you?” she asked, feeling hope in her again. A proposal on New Year’s Eve sounded pretty romantic to her.  
“I don’t know, love,” he answered. “All depends on when this bloody storm stops." 

Emma felt tears sting her eyes as she bit her lip. It wasn’t fair and she hated herself for thinking that, but it wasn’t. She’d waited months to see him. Always with the looming thought in the back of her mind that she’d get a phone call from a commanding officer with bad news. Now he was so close to her yet so far away.

"Emma? Emma are you there?” he asked. Realising she’d gotten lost in her own mind, she came back to herself.

“Yeah.” She wiped a fallen tear away. 

“Are you crying, love?”

“A little.” That was a lie as tears were running like rainfall down her face.

“Oh, Emma,” he sighed. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you big idiot,” she laughed.

“Yes, yes okay,” he growled at someone else. “Emma I’ve got to-”

“I get it. I’ll see you….”

“When I see you?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

"I love you.” Then there was only the dialing tone. Emma let herself have a few more moments of crying before she composed herself, checked her reflection in the window and went back inside. Life went on.

Christmas Eve was always a “big ball of crazy” as Emma had referred to it as a younger woman. Between cooking, cleaning, final presents (there was always one she forgot) and keeping Henry occupied, her schedule was so tight she barely had time to use the bathroom. Luckily, Henry was at his father’s house for this year so Neal got to keep him occupied.

After dropping Henry off, Emma rushed down to the supermarket to get together the last minute things for Christmas dinner for four (her parents would be joining them tomorrow). She tried to ignore the clench in her heart when her mind kept telling her “dinner for five.” Drinks, potatoes, sprouts (which her son would eat, damn it), et cetra. Fighting her way through the crowd of last minute shoppers, she managed to get just two hours after she’d gone in.

Once she got home she got started on the turkey. Last year her and Killian had attempted a properly cooked turkey, a first for both, resulting in a fire extinguisher and a first degree burn on Emma’s arm. She found herself laughing as she prepped the dinner.

The day was over in a flash, Neal left Henry back at Emma’s with a box wrapped in metallic red paper Emma knew was the book series Henry had been looking at. He handed her a rectangle wrapped in blue. Chocolates, she deduced after one shake. They may be just what the doctor ordered.

Soon, after their traditional Christmas Eve McDonald’s, Henry was washed, dried and in elf themed PJs. Emma sat on the edge of his bed, his stocking propped up at the foot of it.

“You have to go to sleep real quick okay, kid?” she asked.

“Mom?” he asked. “Is Santa Claus real?” Emma’s head snapped up to attention. This kid still believed in the tooth fairy, Easter bunny, bogeyman and all sorts of magic.

“Of course he’s real,” she scoffed. “Who do you think puts all the presents under the tree?”

“Grace said you do.” Emma pressed a kiss to her sweet boy’s forehead. No way he was giving up on magic.

“Kid, I’m a cop. Your dad’s a janitor. We don’t make enough money to buy all that techy stuff you get.” She waved a hand at the TV and games console he’d gotten last Christmas, nestled in the corner of his room.

“But Killian’s a soldier. Don’t they make a lot of money?”

“Yeah. But he’s got to buy uniforms and plane tickets and all that.” Henry’s eyes dropped downwards and she tilted his chin up. “Hey, kid? Do you believe in magic.”

“Yeah,” he answered, a cheeky smirk creeping onto his face. 

“Well as long as you believe in magic, then Santa Claus is real. Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Mom,” he murmured as he slipped under the covers. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Emma changed into reindeer PJs and slipped downstairs, made herself a hot cocoa with more cream than normal and curled up on the couch, finally allowing herself to feel the pain of missing having Killian around. It was like a hole in her chest and no amount of chocolate stolen from the Christmas tin would fix it. 

She twisted her body to look out the window, using the warmth from the cup to warm her hands. There were shouts from teenagers up and down the street. It was a surprisingly clear night-Henry had said that Neal told him Santa made it that way so that he could see while he was flying. She looked up at the sky for a moment, focussing on nothing in particular until something caught her eye;  tiny trail of silver travelling across the blackness.

“How about that?” she muttered, taking another sip of her cocoa. “A shooting star.” She remembered when she was little, like 6 or 7, her dad would take her out to watch for shooting stars and she’d wish for things, stupid kid stuff like a pony or an ice cream.

What the hell she thought. A shooting star’s a shooting star, right? Emma closed her eyes, wishing with every cell in her body.

I wish Killian were here. She didn’t know what she expected, maybe the part of her that was still a kid wanted him to appear right in front of her. No such luck. She was old enough to know wishes didn’t come true.

She switched on the TV, hoping for a distraction and watched Polar Express. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Killian. It had been a long, long time without him. Far too long.

She got somewhat immersed in the film, sometimes letting her mind wander down the rabbit hole. At a point where she actually was watching-she did like this film-she was interrupted by a knock at the door. The clock on the TV read 11:38pm. Who the hell would be calling at this time of the night?

“If this is more damn carol singers,” she muttered, storming angrily to the door and yanking it open.

On the other side, she saw messy brown hair nestled under a beanie with a skull and crossbones on it, sparkling blue eyes, pale skin, ears that stuck out-quite appropriately-like an elf’s, with a blue duffel bag thrown over a broad shoulder and a black coat covering an army uniform.

“Killian?” she choked. He didn’t even have time to react before she threw her arms around him, kissing him with everything she had, tasting him for the first time in way too long. He dropped his bag and the porch and pulled her close to him, running his hands up and down her back. She should have been freezing but all she could feel was warmth running through her.

“How-how are you here?” she choked when she pulled back, stroking his face as if she was familiarizing herself with him. “I thought your plane-”

"Would you believe my luck, Emma, they found a clear course to Maine just as I was going to leave and get a hotel,” he laughed.

“No.” She shook her head, giggling. “No, they didn’t.”

“It’s the truth, Emma,” he swore as she peppered his cheek with tiny kisses. “And I got priority because of my service overseas.”

Emma pulled him in for another kiss, with him sweeping her off her feet before setting her down on the ground.

“I’m just so glad you’re here,” she whispered as he hugged her tightly.

“I missed you so much,” he replied. 

Emma glanced up to the sky, where she saw a full moon shining above them.  And she’d have never told anyone but she swore she saw something slowly make its way across the surface of the moon, something being pulled by an animal of some kind. And though she’d never say it, she heard a faint noise. Something that sounded like a 'ho ho ho’ echoing through the air.

“Thank you big guy,” she whispered.


	5. Weekend Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this does get a bit hot and steamy towards the end.... Not very bad but if that's not your thing...

A weekend away was just what the Saviour and her pirate needed. David and Snow had told them the whole plan a few days earlier on Emma’s birthday. They’d take care of Henry and manage the station while she enjoyed some TLC in a cabin they’d found on a hike (must have come over in the curse) and spent months refurnishing and decorating it. They showed Emma all the pictures of the outside; a large glittering lake was practically on their doorstep, soft emerald grass and rainbow coloured flowers surrounded them, a large tree with its branches skimming the waters surface- complete with a tyre swing- and a hammock nestled in another tree, just big enough for two.

And despite Emma’s protests-“It’s too expensive, what if something happens and I’m not there?”-she loved every minute.

She spent the first night curled up on the double bed which her parents had loaded with soft pillows of every colour and a fresh white quilt that smelt like summer, utterly exhausted after a day of travelling. She lay on her side reading a book she’d borrowed at Belle’s recommendation and Killian soon joined her and began gently stroking her hair as the fire crackled softly in the background, sending her off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, a well rested but still fully dressed Saviour woke at nearly noon to the sound of her pirate singing some old Enchanted Forest folk song in the kitchen. Smiling she discarded her tank top and jeans, pulled on a white shirt and a pair of light blue shorts and crept barefoot across the soft carpet to the kitchen.

Killian stood without his jacket or vest at the stove, the aroma  of pancakes wafting through the air. She padded behind him and pressed a whisper of a kiss to his neck, her hands circling his waist.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he greeted, bringing one of her hands to his lips and kissing it softly. “Pancakes sound good?”

“Perfect,” she replied, heading off to make herself a coffee.  
They ate together lounging on the sofa, Emma laughing as she attempted to steal some of Killian’s breakfast and Killian not so subtly letting her win. They ended up with Emma lying on top of Killian and him tracing gentle patterns on her back.

“What shall we do today then, love?” he asked.

Emma thought back to the lake outside. As a kid, she’d watched movies of people swimming in lakes during the summer and longed to go herself. Sadly, the closest she got was a local swimming pool where older kids had held her underwater until she nearly passed out.

“Emma?” Killian asked, bringing her back to reality. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking the cruel memory away. That was the past and this was her present and she planned on enjoying every single minute of it. “I want to go swimming in the lake.”

“Do you?” he asked. “I didn’t know you were a waterbaby, Swan.” Emma giggled and kissed hi before heading off to the bedroom.

A half hour later, Emma was tying the straps to her bikini, looking at herself in the full length mirror attatched the wardrobe door. She’d bought this a few months ago when summer started, hoping to get the chance to wear it but no such luck, a deep scarlet number with white straps. She threw her shirt on over it, tied her hair back and ran out the door, making sure to lift a towel on her way.

Killian was already outside, sitting on the edge of the lake with his legs dangling in, wearing the swimming trunks Emma had bought for him before summer started, insisting he join the modern world. His scarred wrist was visible; his hook and brace lay on the kitchen table.

“What do you think?” she asked as she shrugged off her shirt.

“I think your parents may have found paradise,” he replied, looking at the expanse of shimmering water that they had all to themselves. “Although don’t tell your father I said so.”

“That’s very nice and all, Killian. But I meant what do you think of me.” She brushed his arm gently with her foot to get her to look at him.

Once he laid eyes on her, Killian was lost for words. He opened and closed his mouth foolishly, trying and failing to find something to say.

“Killian?” Emma laughed as she sat down beside him, gasping as the cold water shocked her skin. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I think you look an absolute vision, Swan,” he managed to say.

“Come on.” She jumped out of the water and reached a hand to him. “I want to play on that tyre swing.”

“As you wish.”

The pair ran to the tree which had the swing. Killian approached it with suspicion, giving it a few test pushes, staring up at the branch it was attached to.

“Are you certain it’s safe?” he asked warily as Emma climbed on.

“Of course it is,” she reassured him. “And anyway if it isn’t, I have magic. I can save myself.”

“Emma!”

“Hey, don’t worry.” She ruffled his hair from her position on the swing. “It’s fine. I promise. Now give me a push.”

Grinning, Killian pulled the tyre back, Emma clinging tightly to the rope, her smile growing wider as he stepped backwards.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she squeaked, grasping the rope even tighter.

Next thing she knew she was practically flying. A geeful scream tore from her mouth before she could stop it. The world around her metled into a blur of colour, the sounds were muted as all she could hear was her own heart beating furiously against her ribs. Once the world stilled again and she came back to earth, she turned to Killian, laughing. She moved to get down and he grasped her waist and took her down in one swift motion. Emma clung to him, still slightly dizzy.

“Killian you have to try it,” she insisted, still giggling. Maybe it was just the swing, maybe it was this place, but damn she had never felt this free.

“I don’t know, love.” Killian cast an uncertain look back at the swing, as if he were afraid it would collapse at any given moment.

“It’s fine,” she said, pushing him towards it slightly. “Come on, it’s fun.”

“All right.” He hoisted himself up-with difficulty given his one hand but he had Emma pushing him from behind-and settled himself. “Do it.” Emma grasped the tyre and dragged it back, struggling slightly under its weight.

“Ready?” she called once she had gone as far as she could.

“Ready.”

The pirate’s laughter rang throughout the scene, causing Emma to giggle herself as she sat down on the grass, watching him soaring past her.

“That,” he panted, climbing down and flopping beside her. “Was brilliant.”

“We should get one for the back yard,” Emma suggested. “Henry would love it too.”

They passed the hours taking turns on the swing and swimming, the water biting at first but they soon got used to it as they splashed around like two children in a pool, with the occasional lazy backstroke and racing going on.

Soon the warm sunshine (unusual for October but welcome nonetheless) changed to cool evening, the sky turning from turquiose to navy. Emma gently made her way to Killian, content to take her time.

“Hey,” she greeted, floating next to him.

“Hey yourself,” he replied as his fingers danced lightly upon her skin.

She reached up to the back of his neck and toyed with the dark hair that stuck to his skin before pulling him in for a tender kiss, tasting of coffee and crackers and just a hint of rum. All the things that were Killian.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips. She wondered if she’d ever tire of saying that, ever tire of letting him know that he held her heart in his hand, that she trusted him not to break it, trusted him to stay with her forever, telling him that she wanted to be with him until the day she died and even after that, to find him in the Underworld or Heaven or Hell and spend eternity with him. She knew she wouldn’t.

“I love you too, my darling,” he whispered back. “More than I can ever say.” Emma’s heart warmed at his admission, his confession sending a tingling sensation up and down her arms. She’d never tire of that either.

She claimed his lips again, slower this time, wanting to take in everything. He opened his mouth for her, allowing her tongue to explore his mouth, to taste him. She pulled him closer, her chest brushing against his, one arm across his shoulders and the other gripping his waist. He pulled away from her mouth and moved to her neck and shoulders, pressing soft kisses to her wet skin.

“Killian?” she asked softly, as though someone could be watching them through the trees. When he murmured in response, she continued. “I want you.”

“I want you too, my love. I want you forever.”

“No.” Shaking her head, she pulled back to look at him. “Who knows how long it is before we have another moment like this? Before another Hyde shows up or we get lost in who knows where? This is a quiet moment and the Saviour doesn’t get a lot of them. I want you now, Killian.”

“Emma,” Killian whispered, his eyes darkening. “Emma for tonight, I am yours.” The very thought made her excited, the thought of having Killian all to herself, being able to do what she pleased with him. He pressed his lips to hers once again, this time his tongue entering her mouth as she wrapped her legs around his waist. His blunted wrist stroked her legs thoughtfully.

He stood up, making Emma shriek as the piercing air hit her skin, but she was warmed by his heat and his hand rubbing her legs. She kissed his neck again and again as he carried her to the shore, then sucking on the skin, leaving a mark at the base of his neck.

“Looks like you’ll have to wear high collars for a while,” she joked as he carried her to her towel and laid her down gently. His eyes roamed all over her, wanting to memorise every detail. She adored this feeling; him looking at her like she was something amazing, like she was more beautiful than all the realms he’d seen, like she shone brighter than all the treasure he’d discovered.

“Killian.” Her hands stroked his waist gently then toyed with the waistband of his shorts, tugging slightly. “Please. Do it now.”

“As you wish, milady.” His hand made quick work of her bikini straps, quickly tossing it aside. He kissed her breasts and sucked her nipple gently, sending shivers down her back. Despite the coolness of the tight, Emma was flushed, her whole body growing warmer as she panted. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Emma pulled off his shorts and cast them aside. They’d find them later. He quickly did the same with her bikini bottom and there was nothing between them. They were completely open to one another, every scar and every imperfection but also every beauty spot. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful.

While the rest of Storybrooke slept soundly, Emma and Killian thanked the gods for their quiet moments, making love under a blanket of a million stars.


	6. A Tale Of Swans and Anchors

“I want to get a new tattoo.”

It was half eleven and Emma Swan was snuggled against her pirate, having abandoned her pillow in favour of his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart as she was about to drift off, but his statement had puzzled her and she lifted her head to look at him. 

“Not right now, obviously,” he continued, shrugging. “Just sometime in the not so distant future.”

 Emma flipped over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. Killian smiled softly in the light of their bedside lamp and pushed a few loose golden strands behind her ear.

“Okay, pirate. What do you want to get?”  
  


He traced his finger tips along her back, leaving invisible patterns on the cotton of her top and gave a soft chuckle.

“A swan.” Emma’s heart jumped at the admission, her body tingling at the thought of him having a sign of her permanently etched onto his skin.

“Killian, you’re more cliche than a Nicolas Sparks novel,” she murmured, a grin spilling onto her face.

“Never heard of that fellow. Might get onto him once I’ve finished that wizarding series.” He nodded to his table, where Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix lay with his bookmark more than halfway through. He then took her hand and guided it to his stomach, placing it just above his hip. “Right there." 

"We can call the tattoo guy tomorrow. I’m willing to bet he even takes dubloons.” She ran her hand around his waist. “Now in the meantime, Captain, when you aren’t distracted…..”

*****

Killian was sitting the chair at the Storybrooke tattoo parlour, Emma holding his shirt, jacket and hook in one hand and his hand in the other.

“Hey,” she asked. “How’d you get the first tattoo? I mean, Enchanted Forest and all that.”

“Well, love, honestly, I paid a man I met in a bar to do it for me. Don’t really remember the ins and outs of it because if I’m honest, I was black out drunk. But I’m glad I got it.” His eyes flicked down to the heart shaped tattoo on his arm. “I want to remember her.” He looked up at her and smiled. “And I want to have a symbol that I love you too.” Emma ruffled his hair as the artist came over with Killian’s design on a sheet of paper.

“You ready, Hook?” he asked, placing the paper on Killian stomach. Killian looked to Emma, who nodded and squeezed his hand warmly.

“Aye, I am.”

Neither one knew how much time had passed. Killian didn’t cry out, although he was gasping and ended up chewing his lip so hard a pool of blood spilled out. 

When it was finished, he ran to the mirror, Emma in tow, to admire it. A swan, no bigger than the palm of his hand, snow white and outlined in dark black, sat proudly on a little pond on his skin, which was still a little red.

“What do you think, Emma?”

“I love it,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

While Killian was paying, Emma looked around at the other designs on the walls. They were mostly fairytale ones, pictures of fire breathing dragons, mermaids, Rapunzel’s tower, the like. And a sword. Feeling a lightbulb go off in her head, she lifted a pencil and paper from the front desk-no one dared question the Saviour and Sheriff-and started doodling. ONce she was satisfied, she ran over to the artist.

“Hey,” she asked, showing him her design. “Think you can slot me in?”

*****

That night, Henry sat on their sofa, staring in admiration at his mother’s ink on her left arm. A sword pointed downwards and a bow lay over it so it resembled a cross on her shoulder. The sword stuck into a bright red apple. Underneath was a book with neat script written over its pages and and anchor dangling from it and snowflakes  twisted around her arm in a circle. Lastly, there was a white bird with its wings outstretched, standing proud just above her elbow.

“What does it all mean?” he asked, reaching out to touch the sword. Emma rolled her eyes and brushed her fingers along each one as she explained.

“The sword and arrow represent Mom and Dad, how they fought to keep me safe. The apple represents the curse which proved they were True Love. The snowflakes represent Elsa and how much she and our friendship mean to me. The book is you, and how much I love you and how you helped complete my story, and the anchor is Killian and how he’s kept me grounded and how much I love him.”

“What about the bird?” Henry asked.

“Um, I guess that’s me,” she admitted.

“Cool. So when can I get a tatto?”

“When you’re eighteen.” Henry pouted, which was hilarious given how he was becoming a man.

“Come on, Mom. Yours are seriously cool.”

“That they are, my love,” Killian said, coming in and balancing a try with three mugs and a plate of cookies on his hand. “And if the lad really wants one, I’m sure we can arrange something." 

Emma laughed and cuddled up to her pirate, her boy next to her, too cool for family cuddles and her story inked onto her skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll also take prompts!


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